Why the Public Hates Us and What

We can Do About It

by Gerald M. Boyd

It’s a pleasure to be here today and to participate in this Institute on Ethics in Journalism event as it seeks to shine a spotlight on the world of journalism today. The goal is worthy and necessary.  And it’s hard.

            Today, journalism is undergoing change and that change is real and permanent. I am here to argue the following: That while journalism is a calling—a noble profession, if you will—it is also a living and breathing thing that must evolve to be relevant to its readers, listeners and viewers. In other words, journalism cannot engage the public effectively by remaining static. The need to find better ways to evolve is perhaps the most difficult challenge we face.

            I want to focus on two aspects of that challenge:  WHY THE PUBLIC HATES US AND WHAT WE CAN DO ABOUT IT?  These are two critical issues for journalism as we look to the future.  Now, why do I say this:  Because today, we live in a time when news and information sources, are endless.

            Sure, news organizations remain vital to communicating with the public. But you know as well as I do, that they are no longer the only game in town. Increasingly today, people can function as their own editors. They can decide what they want, when they want it and how much of it they want.  And guess what? That trend will only increase as more and more media outlets are available.

            This change is partly responsible for the public’s difficulties with journalism. While many in our industry are committed to remaining straight shooters, others see themselves as personalities and even celebrities. Their oxygen is not just the dissemination of news, but to carry out the responsibility with attitude, rancor and a discernable bias. Some of these so-called journalists are columnists or pundits, and other television commentators. Many move across media—the more platforms the better.  They exhaust and anger the public. They leave readers and viewers turning off and tuning out.

            Don’t take my word for it.  Recently, a journalism study group called the “Project for Excellence in Journalism” did a comprehensive review of the current state of the profession and public attitudes. The findings are scary:

-         The percentage of people who rate their daily newspapers as believable dropped to 59 percent in 2002 from 80 percent in l985.

-         Over that same 17 year period, the number of people who believe news organizations generally get their facts straight declined from 55 percent to 35 percent.

-         Those who think news organizations are politically biased rose from 45 to 59 percent.

-         Those who believe news organizations try to cover up their mistakes rose from 13 to 67 percent.

            That brings me to the second factor: the journalist himself. One thing I know better than anything else is the mindset of the journalist. I’ve been one for more than three decades and newsrooms have been my life. My wife Robin is a journalist and so are many of our friends.

            One thing that I have concluded over the past year, while I have escaped the grind of daily journalism, is what a terrible job we do when it comes to explaining who we are, what function we play, and how we perform our duties.

             Most journalists are insecure. They are not born that way, but are made apprehensive by the reality that thousands and even millions of readers, viewers and listeners constantly scrutinize their work. For them, this creates a kind of torture, which they experience in performing their craft.  Most believe what they present is accurate; but they live in fear of someone punching holes in it.

            Paradoxically, most journalists are arrogant. Again, they are not born that way. Arrogance takes hold because journalists have information, and information is power. They are allowed front row seats to news events and important people, and thus, see more and know more than others.  For even the most humble, this can become intoxicating.

            Most journalists are fiercely competitive. There is no bigger high than being the first to tell an audience a fact that they didn’t know—and the more meaningful the information, the greater the high.  They are rewarded for being first, through career-enhancing assignments or promotions.  This need-to-be-first explains why most journalists are gossips. They covet a platform to share what they know—whether it’s a talk show, a lecture or books. An audience becomes their oxygen and the bigger it is, the better they feel.

            Finally, most journalists are driven by a sense of righteousness that means different things to different people. Some define this practice as truth-telling. Others regard it as standing up to the powerful. Still others view it as looking out for the underdog, or afflicting the comfortable and comforting the afflicted.

            When you look into the face of the journalist more often than not you see sameness.  By that, I mean that we attend the same colleges, live in the same neighborhoods, eat at the same restaurants, and send our children to the same schools. There is nothing wrong with that, but it should worry all of us.  How do we begin to understand the hopes and dreams, the pressures and the problems of those who don’t live in our world?

            That brings me to the third reason why the public hates us. At a time when their safety is threatened, at a time when they are looking for answers to a world that grows more challenging and more complicated by the time a 24-hour news cycle runs its course, they believe that we are failing them.

            The highly partisan, ugly presidential campaign that mercifully ended last week is an example of this shortcoming. Despite the five newspapers I read, despite a daily ritual of watching both morning and nightly news broadcast, despite a devotion to Tim Russert’s “Meet the Press” each Sunday and despite a habit of tuning into Fox, CNN, and The Lehrer New’s Hour, I still found it hard to figure out what was really happening in the war in Iraq.  Is Iraq on the road to becoming a stable and democratic force in the region as President Bush argued, or does it represent “a crisis of historic proportions” as Kerry proclaimed?  That’s a difference of opinion as wide as the Grand Canyon.

            Think about the campaign developments that news organizations underplayed and overplayed or just ignored.  Far too much was made of the three presidential debates. Most media proclaimed the articulate and knowledgeable Kerry the winner. They overlooked a more important dynamic:  Bush’s performance was tactically designed to energize Evangelical Christians and other parts of his base. Remember the flood of stories about Kerry’s wise choice of John Edwards, the North Carolina senator, who was supposed to help in the South. Despite Edwards’ spot on the ticket, Bush swept that region, even winning North Carolina by 13 percentage points.

            Then there was the flip side. The media overplayed the importance of the failures in the Iraq war as a defining issue in the campaign. They completely ignored the value of Bush’s opposition to abortion and his support of a constitutional amendment banning same sex marriages—positions more in step with the conservative tilt of the electorate. 

The biggest media lapse was the failure to spot two decisive changes in how this   presidential election was fought. Instead of moving toward the political center as candidates traditionally do in the general election, Bush stayed to the right. His strategy was not to court swing voters, but to bank on those who shared his conservative brand of politics to go the polls in large numbers. That worked.

            Finally, despite some attempts, few news organizations provided real insight into   who made the better leader—a key election issue? But after the polls closed, a national newsweekly told us that Kerry’s leadership style was problematic. He constantly waffled when it came to make decisions, they reported, based on exclusive access to the candidate. I could go on but you get the picture. So, how can we fix what’s broken?

            In the aftermath of 9/11, esteem for new organizations rose to record levels; the circulation of newspapers shot up. There were tangible examples—at The Times circulation rose by almost 100,000 in the first week—as did the number of people watching television news and listening to the radio. The reason, I believe, was simple. We were giving the public what they needed to navigate dangerous and confusing times.

            We must remember that lesson. We must reassure the public that we care as much about them and their lives as we do about profits, ratings, and ridiculous counting methods, such as audience penetration.  We must drop any and all behavior that reinforces the view that we are arrogant and defensive. Several weeks ago, it was sad to watch as top network brass hunkered down and tried to ride out the storm over the airing of bogus records about Bush’s National Guard service, instead of taking meaningful steps immediately to defuse it. They took more than a week to reassure the public—and network viewers—that  they will now redouble their efforts to determine if the documents are real or forgeries.

            More often than not, this is how news organizations respond. That’s why over the last year, I have come to believe that a need exists for more emphasis on leadership, and that this coaching needs to be built into the very fiber of our news organizations. Virtually every successful, major corporation spends a significant amount of time, energy and money developing its leaders—both its current leaders and its future ones.

            Those aspiring to be leaders in journalism need roadmaps on how to engage readers more effectively and how to explain better that we are different from the other sources of information masquerading as news. They need to understand how to stand steadfast to our core values at a time when pressures are pushing us in other directions.

            From my first days in journalism, I have heard how our profession is a different animal—how great leadership is automatic and how great reporters or great writers make great leaders. Well, sometimes they do and sometimes they don’t.

            The reality is this:  Whether we are dealing with micro chips or what stories to put on page one, we are talking about complicated decisions where employees need to work together to reach the smart solution in the face of significant competitive forces.

            The second fix is simple:  We need to explain ourselves better and more often.

We need to distinguish more effectively between what we offer as journalists and the information the public gets from entertainment shows, talk shows, the Web, and other sources that don’t share our core values.

            Let me describe what I mean. Recently, John Carroll, the editor of the Los Angles Times, wrote a story describing the paper’s decision to publish its investigation into the groping allegations involving Arnold Schwarzenegger before the gubernatorial election in California. Why is that important?  It is important because Carroll understood that, at  a time when readers don’t know how decisions get made and when critics misrepresent the journalistic process, a leader must pull back the curtain and show how journalism is practiced. In doing so, he provided a rare peek inside the decision making process at the L.A. Times—something that I welcome.

            Other editors are reaching out to readers in a similar fashion. Recently when the Washington Post decided to clamp down on the use of anonymous sources, the editor, Len Downie, wrote an article explaining the decision. That’s the kind of openness we need today.

            That leads me to my third fix: restoring trust.  I believe, with all my heart, that we must become more active in helping the public know that we work for them and that what we do is in their interest. That’s our public responsibility and why we have a First Amendment. Sometimes, that seems to be lost.  We simply cannot take the view that we can put it out there for them to take it, as we give it, period.  In all honesty, fewer and fewer of them are taking it, and some of them who are taking it are throwing it back in our faces.

            From our first days on the job in any newsroom, we learn how to become skilled in gathering, analyzing, synthesizing and reporting the news. Clearly we need to do more.

Let’s face it, just about all of us now in journalism were motivated to get into this profession by the thrill of the chase – hunting down that great story. The love of the scoop is intoxicating, and yes, still important, vital, and crucial. I would argue, however, that some of that time, talent and effort has to be turned toward issues that provide for the long-term viability of serious journalism.

            Don’t get me wrong. I am not a Chicken Little rushing around screaming that the sky is falling, the sky is falling. But, I do worry about the future.  I do believe that any forces that tend to work to the detriment of serious journalism by definition work to the detriment of society.

            So what am I calling for?  We need the establishment and expansion of structures dedicated to looking deeply and critically into journalism and how it engages the public. These structures need to focus not only on how the news is covered, but even more basic questions, such as why we continue to disconnect with those to whom we have given our professional careers to serve.  Just as it is a central part of the news efforts for leaders to discuss, debate and give serious attention to issues like the structure of a story, the length of a story, and the placement of a story, we must increasingly focus attention on the reasons for the story and whether those reasons are clear to our readers.

            Should we accompany controversial stories with sidebars revealing some of the issues related to how the story developed? Should we make special efforts to explain our decisions, whether in print or on the airwaves?  Should we do more to anticipate backlash and criticism and try harder to explain ourselves? Should the Web be used, for instance,  to generate more dialogue with the public about issues raised on the air or in the paper?

These kinds of questions and concerns are not just interesting academic exercises for J-schools and conventions. They are everyday situations that must be tackled in a way that is meaningful, yet that does nothing to compromise the journalistic mission.

            I cannot overemphasize the importance or the potential difficulty of infusing these kinds of practices into the daily work of professional journalists.  Hard it might be, but do it we must. After all, journalism is a profession and like any profession—law, medicine, or education—it must evolve with the times.

            We must head into the future with a determination that our journalism is as relevant and engaging in that changing world as it has been in the past. That thinking serves the pubic and it assures our survival.